


wake me up come tomorrow

by savedby



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-10-20 23:13:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10672773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/savedby/pseuds/savedby
Summary: “After playoffs you should fuck me,” Adam had said, casually, in Swedish, at one of their team dinners. Oscar choked on his piece of steak, got his ribs almost broken by Pat who thought he was being helpful by pounding on his back.





	wake me up come tomorrow

 

They don’t exactly crash and burn in the playoffs, but they lose nonetheless. It hurts more than Oscar expected it to, considering. He doesn’t get to feel it for long, though, because with the game over, exhaustion crashes over him unlike anything else, the rest of the room in much the same condition. 

 

Oscar can see Davo swaying on his feet from where he’s sitting, and Leon standing too near, ready to catch him if he falls over. Nuge and Ebs are exchanging periodic glances, checking up on each other or maybe trying to affirm that the game really happened. Lucic is the only one who seems largely unaffected, picking up guys and patting them on the back and sending them into the showers. 

 

Oscar and Adam have pretty much abandoned all pretenses, and are sitting slumped against each other on the bench, resting before the laborious exercise of putting on pants. A few minutes before, Adam helped him pull off his underarmor and Oscar returned the favor by taking off his skates. It’s more demonstrative than they are usually, but nobody is looking.

 

They take a cab back to their place, because neither of them is in any state to drive. 

 

The cab driver is quiet during the ride, and Adam dozes away on Oscar’s shoulder. Oscar gently shifts him so he’s laying more comfortably and watches the dark buildings blur past them, his mind blank.

 

They stop in front of their apartment building, and Adam wakes up with a start. Oscar can’t help laughing at him a little bit, and Adam glares at him grumpily.

 

“This one is on me, boys,” the cab driver says quietly, and the two of them freeze. He turns around in his seat, smiles slightly, his eyes bright. “That was a heck of a show.”

 

Oscar is momentarily at a loss, but Adam isn’t. He reaches out and awkwardly shakes the man’s hand.

 

“Thank you,” Adam says, and Oscar echoes him, where he would have usually insisted on paying.

 

Oscar almost falls asleep in the elevator, the cold metal surface pleasant against his cheek, but Adam grips his wrist and pulls them out at their stop. 

 

They drop their jackets in the entrance, the door slams behind them and they drag their abused bodies into Adam’s bedroom. Oscar is asleep before his head even hits the pillow.

  
  


*

  
  


Oscar wakes up a few hours later, Adam is a heavy weight across his back. He untangles himself for long enough to go to the toilet, then gets out of the rest of his clothes, wakes up Adam and helps him take off his, ignoring his sleepy grumbling.

 

He curls up back against Adam, presses his nose into the nape of his neck and closes his eyes, feeling him breathe. They both smell, like unwashed pads and stale sweat, but Oscar can’t find it in himself to care, tucking himself closer anyway.

  
  


*

  
  


Adam wakes up before him, an indeterminable time later. Oscar feels him move, feels the cold afterwards, the small burst of warmth when Adam leans down to kiss his cheek, butterfly soft.

 

It’s hunger that coaxes him out of the blankets eventually. He can smell coffee brewing downstairs, and Adam sleepily cussing the toaster for startling him again. Oscar sits up, and for a brief moment he feels fine. Then the pain from his stiffening muscles hits him like a punch and he groans.

 

A hot shower helps with the stiffness and it also means he doesn’t smell like the Edmonton sewage system anymore. He pads to the kitchen, drying his head with a towel, finds Adam squinting at some eggs, poking them with a spatula. 

 

Oscar feels a wave of affection for him, his sleepy squinty face and the way he holds kitchen utensils like they might be conspiring to bite him. He shuffles closer, and Adam lifts his head in time to receive his good morning kiss, murmurs something sleepy and soft into Oscar’s mouth, his wet hair curling around his face.

 

Oscar takes over the cooking, immediately determines that Adam’s forgotten to actually turn on the stove, then fishes the eggshells out of the scrambled eggs. Adam’s got many talents, but in the kitchen? It’s best that Oscar takes over.

 

After breakfast, and coffee, and a few kisses where their beards bristle against each other, they return calls from their parents and their agents. Adam’s dad cries so loudly that Oscar can hear him through the speaker, as Adam sends him a pleading look. 

 

“You know how he gets,” he tells Oscar later, and Oscar nods. Mr. Larsson is a lot freer with his feelings than Adam is. “He’s very proud of us.”

 

The ‘us’ warms Oscar down to his bones, and he ducks his head to hide his pleased grin. The Larssons like him. This is a good thing, because he likes their son quite a bit too.

 

After the phone calls, they shave. 

 

They stand in the bathroom, elbows knocking together, and shave off their playoff beards. Oscar is meticulous about it, but Adam is all over the place, swiping across his jawline and across the top of his cheek on the next stroke. He claims it’s because his hair grows in weird directions. Oscar thinks it’s the reason he cuts himself so often. 

 

Oscar splashes his bare face with the aftershave, gritting his teeth against the burn, and his eyes meet Adam’s in the mirror. With the beard gone, he sees the hollowness in Adam’s cheeks, the shadows under his eyes even after almost a full day of sleep.

 

He reaches out and Adam steps into the hug, wraps his arms around him and kisses him until his knees go weak.

  
  


*

  
  


“After playoffs you should fuck me,” Adam had said, casually, in Swedish, at one of their team dinners. Oscar choked on his piece of steak, got his ribs almost broken by Pat who thought he was being helpful by pounding on his back.

 

So now, Oscar changes their sheets, and lays out the towels, then joins Adam in the bathroom, sitting on the edge of the tub, watching him get himself clean. Adam pretends to be unaffected by his gaze, but his red face betrays him. When he puts a finger in himself he hisses, and Oscar’s dick jumps in his sweatpants, reminding him that it’s very excited for the proceedings. 

 

“I’m tight,” Adam tells him, deceptively bland, though he grins when Oscar groans, softly. 

 

Eventually, when Adam is just about finished, Oscar drops his pants and steps into the bath, takes the shower head away from him.

 

“You don’t need to,” Adam says, with bright, hungry eyes, “I said I wanted you to fuck me, I didn’t mean you had to reciprocate.”

 

Oscar shrugs, reaching behind himself. He’s a little looser when he traces his hole with his fingers. He likes one sometimes, when he’s jerking off, likes how it grounds him.

 

“I want you to fuck me later, anyway,” he tells Adam, who sucks in a sharp breath and nods. 

 

It’s sometime before midday that they make it to bed. Adam lays down, towel rolled up under his spine to lift him on display. It’s a very vulnerable position, and Oscar takes a moment to just look at him, catalogues the changes in his body through the weeks. Adam looks smaller now, leaner, bruises painted across his torso, from bad checks, from blocking shots with his body.

 

He sighs softly, content, as Oscar leans down to lick at his nipples, tracing circles around them, kissing down Adam’s stomach and nuzzling into his trail, breathing him in.

 

“Are you going to finger me or not?” Adam says, a little breathless, and it makes Oscar laugh against his belly.

 

“Patience-” he starts, but Adam interrupts.

 

“If you start quoting Star Wars, I’m leaving,” he says, and Oscar snaps his mouth shut, grinning.

 

He does eventually get to Adam’s ass, popping open the lube and slicking up his fingers. He looks up to check up on Adam, finds him propped comfortably on a pillow and watching the proceedings. Oscar has to stop for a moment, lean over to kiss him, once, twice, Adam sucking his bottom lip gently into his mouth.

 

He has to back up eventually, to focus on the goal. He circles around Adam’s hole slowly, pushing some lube in and spreading it around. He’s tempted to lean down and put his mouth on him here, but Adam likes that a little too much, and it’s not what they planned on.

 

Oscar pushes in, slowly, alternating between staring at Adam’s face and his finger disappearing inside him. Adam hisses, breathes a little quicker, his erection flagging. But that’s usual for him. Oscar keeps at it, as always distracted by the shocking warmth of Adam’s insides, the thought that he’ll put his dick where his finger is going right now.

 

“You’re really tight,” he tells Adam, nonsensically, and Adam snorts, opens his eyes.

 

“I told you,” he says, “go slow.”

 

Oscar does, adds another finger only when he feels Adam completely relax into the first. He fingers him slow and easy, watching his face as it relaxes from discomfort to pleasure. Adam makes these noises too, cut off moans, helpless and involuntary. Oscar adds a third finger and he whines, high in his throat.

 

Oscar pauses for a moment, waits for Adam to open his eyes and glare at him before continuing. 

 

He finally twists his fingers just right and Adam groans. He hits the spot three times in quick succession, rubbing his fingers around him, watching in fascination as Adam loses the rest of his composure, hips moving in sharp involuntary movements, chasing Oscar’s touch. His dick starts filling out again, bumping up against his stomach. 

 

Oscar can’t help himself, leans down to lick it teasingly, suckle on the head, until Adam is a sweaty, begging mess.

 

“I want to fuck you now,” he says to Adam, gently, watching his eyes flutter open, shining dark and liquid.

 

“Come on,” Adam says, “ _ please _ .”

 

And that’s enough for Oscar, who pulls out his fingers gently, keeps his palm pressed against Adam’s hole, because it helps with the sudden feeling of emptiness. 

 

“How do you want this?” he asks Adam, ripping a condom packet open with his teeth and rolling it on. Touching his erection makes him hiss. He’s suddenly so hard it hurts and he hasn’t even realized, so focused on Adam.

 

“Me on top,” Adam says, sounding breathless and almost shy.

 

“Okay,” Oscar says, already trembling at the image. He releases Adam and lays next to him, pouring some more lube over his dick. Adam straddles him, surprisingly graceful. He grins smugly at Oscar’s admiring look and leans down to kiss him.

 

They get lost in it for a few minutes, just kissing softly, as Adam rubs himself off against Oscar’s stomach. Finally, Adam pulls back and braces himself on all fours, while Oscar grips the base of his dick, steadying it.

 

“Go as slow as you need,” Oscar tells him, softly, and Adam grins at him, looking like he’s about to say something full of bravado, but then the head of Oscar’s dick breaches him and his mouth opens in a silent moan.

 

He’s tight and the warmth of him feels even better than Oscar remembers it. He has to bite his lip, hard, to keep from doing something stupid like thrusting or coming on the spot. Adam works himself down slowly, until Oscar can feel the stretch of Adam’s hole with his fingers.

 

They stay like that for a moment, just looking at each other in slack-jawed amazement, before Adam raises himself on his knees and drops down, wringing a moan out of both of them. 

 

Oscar lets him move alone at first, fighting for control of his wits. When he feels Adam relax further, he moves his hands so he’s steadying his hips and then he fucks up, meeting Adam on a down thrust. 

 

It takes a little bit of calculation, but eventually he finds the spot that makes Adam groan and hits it a few times in quick succession, which is enough for Adam’s arms to give out. He falls on Oscar’s chest, groaning, and he’s heavy, but Oscar doesn’t mind it. They catch their breaths for a moment, and Oscar just lets himself feel it, Adam’s warmth around him, Oscar inside him, their bodies connected on the most basic level.

 

Oscar then wraps his hands around Adam’s ass and starts moving.

 

Adam moans brokenly as Oscar hits his spot again and again, rubbing his dick against Oscar’s abs. It doesn’t take long before his hips stutter and his come splashes warm against Oscar’s stomach. He muffles his moan against Oscar’s neck, and the sensation of it, the way Adam’s body constricts around him, sends Oscar over the edge too.

 

“Fuck,” Adam mutters softly, a note of amazement in his voice. Oscar grins and presses a kiss to his hair in agreement.

 

Adam gets off him eventually, and the both hiss at the overstimulation. Adam gets up on wobbly knees to fetch a washcloth while Oscar carefully ties off the condom, and throws the towels off the bed, perching at the end of it, poking at the come running down his torso with a grimace.

 

Adam cleans the come off his abs when he comes back, and then sits in his lap, even though he’s really too heavy for it, but Oscar forgets to complain when he kisses him, deep and sure, and familiar. They stay like that, just making out without any particular intent behind it. 

 

Eventually, Oscar winds his arms around Adam’s waist and twists them, throwing Adam onto the bed and crawling on top of him. It almost takes his back out, but it’s worth it from the way Adam grins up at him.

 

“When can you go again?” Oscar asks, sitting on his haunches. He reaches out to fondle Adam’s dick a little, but he hisses at him, and he pulls back, strokes across his thigh in apology.

 

“I need a little while,” Adam says and Oscar leans down to kiss him again, just a quick smack of lips.

 

“Good,” Oscar says, flipping on his side next to Adam and cuddling in closer with his head on Adam’s shoulder. “I want you to do me next, okay?”

 

“Sure,” Adam says, and Oscar feels the vibration of it under his ear, “no rush, right?”

 

“No rush,” Oscar says, agreeably, and closes his eyes. The last thing he remembers before falling asleep is Adam dragging the blanket over them.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Took this off anon, quietly. Thanks for all your sweet comments, pals, you gave me a lot of confidence.


End file.
